Catch up

Figured it was time to let you all know what the score is.

We’re now well into winter here, and it’s colder than I expected. Well, that’s not true – when it’s hot and sunny, it’s very hot and sunny, it’s just the hot-and-sunny days come a lot less frequently now. The rest of the time, it’s windy and rainy and cold. But it’s all relative – often I’ll think “Ooh, it’s a bit nippy today” then look down and realise I’m wearing shorts, a vest top and flip flops. Could you ever wear that kind of outfit in a Scottish winter? Heck, it’s only recent climate changes that have allowed us to wear that kind of outfit in a Scottish summer, and even that’s pushing it slightly.

I am still working at St. James Anglican Primary School, and will be for the forseeable future. I can’t remember what I’ve said about St. James before, so excuse me if I repeat myself. It’s possibly the poorest school on the island, but the staff (all four of them) are all very friendly and enthusiastic, which is more than you can say for the larger schools, not naming any names, cough cough. St. James hardly had any books in their library until about a month ago, when they had a big donation from a cruise ship. And so, my current job is setting up a library for them. After I’m done there, I’ll be doing some painting around the school and making it look pretty, which will be fun. Also please note – the uniforms at St. James are hot pink, and I love ‘em. HOT pink. Even the boys. It’s fantastic.

I was having some accomodation problems, which I won’t go into as I am not into public slander. So, since the manager for St. James is also the manager for Norah Frazer School for Special Education, which is right next door, I am now living in a room at the back of Norah Frazer. Just since the weekend, and it happened very suddenly, so I apologise for not mentioning this to anyone sooner. I love my wee room there. I have those insect screen things against my windows and door, so I can sleep with my windows open without fear of being munched on, and I can actually lock my door. I have my own wee fridge, which is a freakin’ luxury here. I have a large bathroom to use, which doubles up as the boys toilets during the day, so I also have my own urinal. I have a shower which I can control the temperature of (I’d call it a hot shower but that’s kinda stretching the truth). I also have furniture. I love the fact that I’m not living out of my rucksack anymore, which I kinda have been for the past couple of months. I should end up doing some work at Norah Frazer at some point as well which will be good.

Social life still kickin’. The hockey team was fun but gruelling, and kinda fell down the drain when the accomodation drama started as I was too busy/tired after school to face getting my ass kicked by ten year olds. I still go to Tuesday club every week, and I have a good circle of friends to depend on.

And I can’t believe how scary close this is getting to hometime… 

Death of a Chief

(By the way, Death of a President is not an entertaining film...)

So the Tui Levuka died. He was in his 70s and had heart problems, but still. The town was pandemonium all last week as mourners from all over Fiji flooded our poor tiny little town. Before the funeral, the body was held at the town hospital, which I walk past four times every week day on my way to and from school/lunch break. The body was guarded by these great hulks of men in traditional attire – grass skirts, arms and ankles with similar grass bands, and their bodies painted black. Scary, right? Yet every time I walked past they smiled and waved at me, or made coughing noises to try and make me look at them.

It was a bit of an awkward week for me, given that the only wearable items I own that are black are the following:
- Flip flops
- Small canvas handbag
- Hair bobbles
- Underwear

and I felt glaringly out of place in my pink flowery sulu. But my searches at Levuka’s clothing stores were fruitless and no mourning outfit was found, so I grinned and beared it.

The funeral was a lavish affair, but I wasn’t here to witness it, having gone to the gorgeous tiny coral island of Caqelai for the weekend. (Heaven! White beach, turquoise sea, and you can walk round the island in 15 minutes.) But it was pretty harrowing noticing the great respect that’s held for the chief, even in a 21st century town. The clubs were empty all week, children didn’t play outside, cars drove slowly and no loud music was heard. It shows how well Fiji has done to preserve its traditions from the days before European influence, and I say bravo. It’s also really lovely to see a community having real respect for someone like that – when you come from a ned-infested country like Scotland where complete strangers are beaten up as a hobby, it seems unusual.

And that is all.

New address!

which you can find on the How to Contact Me page. For the next few weeks please warn me if you post me anything ’cause I haven’t quite worked out how often the post is collected or where it will appear at my new school*. ‘Naka.

*which, by the way, is well good!